


The Toy-Box

by torestoreamends



Category: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Brief torture scene (Cruciatus Curse), Gen, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Spoilers, The Scorpion King, Voldemort Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 14:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torestoreamends/pseuds/torestoreamends
Summary: Voldemort rules the wizarding world. It’s a dangerous time, and Astoria and Draco are determined to keep their son safe, so they begin teaching him Occlumency. It’s an essential tool for anyone, especially a future servant of the Dark Lord.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This came about because I was talking to someone about the idea of Scorpius being a skilled Occlumens. That obviously isn't true in the main timeline, but I was just deeply fascinated by how the Scorpion King could be trained from birth in this kind of thing, and how that could partly explain how different he turns out from our Scorpius, who has never really had to hide himself away or restrain himself.
> 
> Beta'd by brief_and_dreamy.

It starts off as a game. Scorpius has always loved playing hide and seek, he's good at squeezing into small spaces and sitting in silence for ages so no one can find him, and this is just like playing hide and seek but with his mind. His mum tells him to lock things away where she can't see, words and numbers usually, and then she'll try to find them. There's a toy-box in the nursery, painted bright blue and white, and he thinks about putting things inside it, because the toy-box is where you're meant to put things to tidy them away. He keeps the box locked tight, and his mum can never get in.

This morning it's raining outside, drops pattering against the window pain, dull grey light filling the room. They've lit a couple of candles that float over the table where they're working. They bathe everything in golden light, and Scorpius loves them because they're just like the ones at Hogwarts, which is where he's going to go to school one day.

They're working on numbers. He's doing sums, adding things together, and then taking them away. They aren't difficult, and he finishes the exercise in about twenty minutes. 

"Can we play the game now?" He asks, pushing his parchment away and looking up at his mum.

She glances up from the book she's reading and a wide smile blossoms on her face. It makes Scorpius feel all warm and proud inside. "Did you finish your work already?" She checks through the sums, but Scorpius knows they're all right. 

"They weren't hard. Please can we play?" 

She nods and closes her book. "Okay. Think of a number... And then don't let me see." 

Scorpius looks up at the ceiling, thinking of all the numbers he knows. He likes the number six, it sounds like a snake hissing, so he locks it away in the toy-box and looks his mum right in the eyes. "I'm ready." 

His mind is perfectly clear and steady. He lets himself think about the rain outside, how there will be worms in the garden later. He thinks about splashing through the muddy puddles that collect on the bank by the river. 

His mum's eyes are a chestnut brown, and there are little bits of green. Like the vegetable patch when it's all earth, but the first shoots are starting to show through.

"I can't find it," his mum says after a few moments. "You're getting very good." She blinks and focuses on him, gives him another smile, and Scorpius beams. "Maybe we should try something new," she says. "Do you think you can stop me seeing what you learned today?" 

Scorpius nods enthusiastically. "Of course!" He thinks about the sums, and about the big numbers he's starting to use, and he wraps all the thoughts swirling around in his head and stuffs them away into the toy-box. 

His mum doesn't find them. 

 ---

Scorpius likes a lot of things. He likes sweets, Pepper Imps best of all. He likes flying, it feels like freedom, and he's really good at it. He likes history too. In the library at home there are books upon books, and so many of them are about history, about the war his parents fought in and won. The books that interest him most, though, are the ones about the side that didn't win. He sits for hours and reads about Harry Potter and his failed attempts to thwart the Dark Lord. Sometimes he tries to imagine what life would have been like if Harry Potter had won. It's almost impossible.

In the last couple of years his lessons have moved on. He's not doing sums anymore, and he doesn't play games anymore. He still has to practise hiding things though, and at the moment it's his dad who is teaching him, because his mum is too ill.

Scorpius sits straight backed on a chair that's far too big for him. His feet dangle several inches from the ground. Everything in his dad's office is too big, too grand, too overwhelming. 

His dad is in a chair opposite him, leaning forward slightly, eyes as impenetrable as the stone walls of a fortress. It feels as though he's gazing straight into Scorpius's soul. Scorpius misses his mum's eyes, which were always soft, and gentle, and full of warmth. He hates how cold his dad looks, and he hates how he must look that cold too, since he inherited his dad's eyes. 

"Are you ready?" Draco asks quietly.

Scorpius nods in silence, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt cuffs. He isn't ready at all.

"I didn't hear you," Draco says. "And stop fidgeting. You need to concentrate. This is important." 

Scorpius grips the arms of the chair instead. "I'm sorry, sir. I am ready." 

"Very well." 

The toy-box in the nursery was packed away years ago, but Scorpius still remembers every detail of it, and it sits in a dusty room in his mind. The room's windows rattle in the storm of his dad's assault, and he starts tossing out a barrage of thoughts to push him away. 

Harry Potter was building an army to take on the Dark Lord. Harry Potter had two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, who are still alive and at large. Scorpius wishes he had a best friend. He also wishes he could go flying this afternoon, but it's a bit breezy and he's still so small he might be blown around. Perhaps tomorrow. Except tomorrow they're going to London. Going to London would be a far more exciting prospect if his mum was well enough to come too, she would let him get sweets. She might even take him to look at the latest racing broom, or-

"Stop that," Draco snaps.

Scorpius blinks and sees his dad turning away from him, rubbing his temples. Deep shadows flood his face, but Scorpius can still see his pained frown, long lines creasing his forehead. 

"You didn't see anything," Scorpius says boldly. "I know you didn't. I did well." 

"I saw plenty," Draco says, still not looking at him. 

"But you didn't see-"

Draco's fist slams onto the table with a loud thump, and Scorpius jumps and scrambles back in his seat, fear flooding him. 

"You were rambling," Draco says, looking right at him now, eyes glinting like knives through the gloom of the room. "You say too much. The things you hide, you hide well, but you don't hide nearly enough. All these things, the things you like, the things you want, they are weapons. Weapons for people to use against you. Don't think about any of them, not about sweets, or brooms, not even your mother. And especially do not ever think about Harry Potter. Do you understand me?" 

Scorpius gives a tiny, trembling nod. 

"Do you understand me?" Draco roars.

Scorpius squeaks with terror and cowers in his seat. "Yes! Yes, sir." 

Draco withdraws and takes a very deep breath, staring at the picture of Astoria that sits on his desk. She's smiling and waving. He closes his eyes and takes another breath. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. He opens his eyes again and turns to Scorpius. "This is for your safety. It is important that you be protected. There are many people, people who might even seem friendly, who will be looking to undo you as you grow up, and I will not have that happen. Do you understand me?" 

"Yes, sir," Scorpius whispers. His hands are shaking and he wants to hide them away in his sleeves, but he mustn't fidget. 

"Good," Draco says. "Let's try again." 

Scorpius thinks about sweets, and books, and broomsticks, and the more interesting bits of history, and with great reluctance he locks them away in the toy-box. No one will ever find them again. 

 ---

Scorpius is eight years old (very nearly nine) when his dad gets promoted and a meeting is held at the Manor. There have never been so many people here before. Usually it's just him and his mum and dad. But today it seems like every single important person in the country is here. 

He's supposed to be staying away, but he's curious. He doesn't often get to meet new people. While his mum has been ill they've mostly kept to themselves, and sometimes it gets boring. These people are interesting. They're powerful, brilliant wizards and witches, and they're part of history. Secretly, Scorpius aspires to be just like them.

"Can I go down and see them arriving?" he asks his mum as they sit upstairs. "Please?" 

"Your dad doesn't want you near them," she says gently.

"I won't embarrass him!" Why does his dad always think he's going to bring shame to the family? Or get in trouble? Or get hurt? Scorpius is smart, and well drilled. His manners are excellent. He always does what he's told. He follows his lessons. 

"I don't think it's about being embarrassed, sweetheart."

"Then what is it about?" Scorpius asks, all in a huff. 

"I think he wants to make sure he isn't distracted. There's a lot of important business to do." She ruffles his hair. "Now, I think you should get on with your work. Pretend nothing is happening, okay?" She kisses the top of his head. "I'll be back in a bit to check how you're getting on." 

As soon as she leaves the room Scorpius starts counting. He counts to fifty, then he tiptoes across to the door and peers out. The corridor is deserted so he rushes across it and sits at the top of the stairs, pressed right in against the banisters, hunched small so hopefully no one will notice him. 

There are cloaked figures arriving in the entrance hall below. It's pouring down outside so they all rush in, dripping on the stone floor his mum likes to keep clean and dry. Most cast charms over themselves to make their clothes steam away the water. From his perch at the top of the stairs, Scorpius can hear snippets of conversation, but he can't hear nearly enough so he sneaks further down and tucks himself away again. 

A woman with wild, tangled dark hair, and eyes black as raven's feathers arrives. Great-Aunt Bellatrix. She looks around haughtily but never glances in Scorpius's direction. With her is a teenage girl, Bellatrix's daughter. Voldemort's daughter. She looks just like her mother, but her hair is silver, tinged with blue, and she spots Scorpius almost immediately. She smiles, and Scorpius, cautiously, smiles back. 

Scorpius's dad emerges from the drawing room and Bellatrix walks across to speak to him. The girl watches her go, then walks across and hops onto the bottom step of the stairs. Her eyes are as dark as her mother's. Dark but gleaming. 

"Hello," she says.

"Hello," Scorpius replies. 

"I didn't know there'd be any kids here," she says, holding onto the bannister and leaning down to look at Scorpius.

"I'm not supposed to be here," he says. "My dad told me-"

He's distracted as a gentle breeze sweeps into the room in his mind, blowing through an open window, and wafting around the toy-box. There shouldn't be any open windows. Scorpius shuts it, and thinks about the rain that's pounding on the roof above them. There's a leak. Water splatters on the stonework a little to the left of the kitchen door. 

The girl's smile has tightened ever so slightly. "Maybe you should listen to your dad." 

"Maybe," Scorpius says. "Are you here for the meeting?" 

She nods. "Of course."

"You're lucky," Scorpius says. "I'm too young. But it's nice there being people here today. Normally it's too quiet in this house. Sometimes it gets lonely." 

"I didn't have many people to talk to when I was younger either," Delphi says. "But when you're older it gets more interesting. They invite you to meetings and things. But only if you're good enough. You have to be the best." She scrutinises Scorpius, and he lifts his chin and looks right into her eyes. 

"I'm going to be the best. When I'm older."

She laughs. It's high and cold, and sends shivers down Scorpius's spine. "I'm sure you are."

"Delphi!" 

They both look up to see both Bellatrix and Draco looking in their direction. Immediately Delphi turns her back on Scorpius and straightens up.

"Mother." 

Bellatrix looks at Scorpius, a smile curling across her lips. "Young Scorpius Malfoy. What a pleasure." Her eyes are shining in a way that makes Scorpius want to take off running back up the stairs to his room, but he holds his ground. 

His dad looks utterly livid. "Yes. And he shouldn't be here. He's supposed to be in lessons." 

Scorpius gets to his feet. "I think I should probably go now. It was nice to see you Aunty Bellatrix, and-" 

"I think you should let him come in and meet everyone, Draco," Bellatrix says, not looking away from Scorpius for a second. 

"I would prefer for him to be studying," Draco says, also looking at Scorpius, deadly cold.

Scorpius looks at his dad for a moment, then back at Bellatrix, and that's when it happens. 

A force like a hurricane batters into his mind, shattering the windows of his little room, tearing paint and chunks of wood from his toy-box, like the wind is full of claws determined to rip their way inside. Scorpius grabs hold of the bannister behind him for support, but he can feel thoughts rising in waves. Loneliness, the need to talk to people, to be noticed by people, for people to want him. He longs for a best friend so dearly. There's nothing he wants more in this world than someone to keep him company. A friend like Harry-

"No," Scorpius hears himself say. He tightens his grip on the bannister, straightens his back, and thinks about the rain. Bellatrix's cloak is still dripping where she didn't bother to dry it properly. There's probably a fire lit in the drawing room though. She'll dry out soon enough. 

He looks his aunt right in the eye for several long seconds, then turns to Draco. "I'm going to go back to my lessons now, sir. I'm sorry for disobeying you." He doesn't wait for anyone else to say anything.

As he walks up the stairs his legs feel like jelly, and he clutches the bannister. His little room is battered and he has a headache. The box is still intact though, just about. He can repair it. He can make it stronger. And he can put more things in it. Already he's ravelling his loneliness up into a little ball, which he tucks away into a dark corner of the toy-box. He never needs to think about it again. And he certainly never ever needs to think about Harry Potter and his friends again, especially not in front of his great aunt. 

When he gets to his room he closes the door behind him, sinks onto the floor, and buries his face in his knees. He's shaking. 

Delphi had just told him, you have to be good enough for this world. You have to be the best. And in future he is going to be the best. No one will see him fail again. 

 ---

The best thing to happen in the next few years is that Scorpius goes to Hogwarts. He's always dreamed of going, ever since he started reading about it when he was little. He used to imagine finding happiness and friendship there, but in reality he gets something much more useful. He gets status, and notoriety. 

From the very first day he sets himself apart. He's brilliant in class and takes no nonsense from anyone. After breakfast on the first day a third year boy insults Scorpius's parents and he hexes him using a spell he shouldn't even know yet. After that everyone looks at him with fear and admiration, which suits him just fine. This is a step on the road to being the best.

His favourite thing about Hogwarts is that he can play Quidditch. He plays so well that he wins school wide respect and fame. There's rarely a Snitch he doesn't catch, and it delights him. The day he gets to unpack flying from the toy-box in his mind is one of the best days of his life, because for the first time in years he remembers how it feels to be happy. 

His lessons continue, although these days they are restricted to holidays and the occasional weekend. They aren't very much fun anymore. He especially hates it when his father's gaze pierces his soul and he never seems to be hiding enough things. He's a perpetual disappointment, even though it feels as though he's slowly siphoning all of himself away. The worst is the day he's told he's being too enthusiastic about his classes at school. Setting aside his love of learning makes him feel sick, but he does it. He doesn't have a choice, not when his father is looking at him like that.

Lessons with his mum are a little better. Scorpius isn't afraid of her at least, and she never makes him feel like he's failed. Her eyes are still warm in her increasingly thin face. The hugs she still gives him often are still comforting, despite the fact their strength is waning. He clings to every second he can get with her because he's starting to believe those seconds are limited. 

She's the best thing about his life. The one thing keeping him strong. He doesn't know how he's supposed to lose her. And when he finally does, it feels as though his heart has been shattered. 

 ---

He stands in his father's office, clutching his wand in his hand. Draco stands opposite him, wand also drawn, tall, straight-backed, as unreadable as always. His stare is particularly frigid today, just like the icy sheets of rain bucketing down outside the house. 

"Clear your mind," he says. "Show me nothing."

They'd buried her yesterday. It had been a small ceremony with just a few family members. There had been white lilies on her coffin. It was a miserable, overcast, chilly day and Scorpius had forgotten his gloves. He'd wanted more than anything to pull the sleeves of his black coat over his hands for warmth, but he's not supposed to fiddle with his clothes. He's not a child anymore. He's in his third year of school. Hogwarts third years don't mess with their clothes. 

Scorpius swallows hard and tries to stop thinking. It should be easy. He's good at this. He knows how to fold things up small and lock them away, but somehow this refuses to be contained. 

_Just think about something else._

He gives his dad a small nod to say he's ready, and he tightens his grip on his wand. Outside the room in his mind it's raining. The roof is leaking, the way the roof in the hall downstairs sometimes leaks. The water dribbles onto the toy-box, staining the battered, faded blue wood. 

At school they've started to call him the Scorpion King. He likes that. It makes him sound important, strong, respected. It makes it easier to hold his head high and walk through the halls like he's the best. It makes him better at this too. It's easier to lock things away when you know you're untouchable. 

A chill wind rattles the windows of his little room and he shivers. Why is it so cold? It's only September but it's been freezing for weeks. His mum would have lit the fires already. She would have made sure the house was warm enough. And if it wasn't there would have been tea, and blankets, and hugs, and- He misses her hugs so much. Like an ache in his chest. All he ever wants when he's sad is a hug from her, and now he's sad, but she isn't here. He  _misses_  her. He-

"Pitiful." 

He jerks back to reality and realises he's standing in the middle of the office still, but there are tears on his face. His dad is leaning against the desk, not looking at him. Like he isn't worthy of being looked at.

"I don't know why I'm wasting my time if you can't even be bothered to try. Do you not understand why we're doing this? Do you not understand how important this is?"

Scorpius hurriedly wipes the tears from his cheeks with his fingers. "I-I do, sir," he says. His voice cracks, sounds horribly weak and thick with tears. "I'm sorry, sir."

Draco looks up at him. "Try again. You can do this. You  _must_ do this." 

Scorpius sniffs. He closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths. He isn't going to fail. He's stronger than this. His mum- she taught him to be stronger than this. 

Finally he looks at his dad. "I'm ready, sir." 

For a moment Draco just looks at him, then he points his wand across the room. " _Legilimens_." 

The windows are shattered. The curtains are torn and flapping in the harsh wind. Rain lashes into the room. Scorpius is battered by the storm. He tries to defend the toy-box but a harsh gust of wind blows it open with a bang.

Six years old and she's teaching him how to write his name. Eight years old and they're sitting together in the library, reading. She has her arm round him and it's very warm and comforting. Eleven years old and she's holding him by his shoulders and telling him to try his hardest in lessons. She moves to kiss him on the cheek but he pulls away, screwing up his face. Why did he do that? That was a missed moment, a missed opportunity, a missed piece of her love. 

Thirteen years old. He's in the room at St Mungo's, holding her hand. She's sleeping. He's holding her hand so tightly. If he can hold onto her tightly enough she can't slip away, he can stop her leaving. 

The room shifts. It's dark now. She's awake. Her breathing is laboured. She's coughing. Blood spatters the sheets. Scorpius doesn't know what to do. Panic is rising in him, and she's begging him for help, but he doesn't know how. There's no one here. He's alone. And she's coughing, and fading, and dying. And then she's-

"NO!" 

The scream tears from his throat and suddenly he slams onto his knees. His wrists jar as he catches himself on the hard wood floor. He can't hold himself up so he falls onto his side and just curls into a ball. Shaking and sobbing. A pitiful mess.

All he can do is try to breathe but it's impossible through the tears. He clutches at his face and struggles. This isn't right. He's not supposed to- But he can't- He rolls onto his front and hides his face from the world.

Footsteps creak across the floorboards but he doesn't have the strength to flinch away. Hands fall on his shoulder and his side, picking him up. They aren't rough, just strong. They draw him in. 

"Scorpius..." 

His father's voice sounds rough and choked. He's never sounded that way before. Not even yesterday when he was speaking by the grave. 

"I-I can't," Scorpius says between trembling, desperate gasps. "I can't do it. I-I'm sorry... Sir, I-"

"Shush," Draco replies. He wraps both arms round Scorpius and hugs him close, right against his chest. Scorpius buries his wet face in his dad's shoulder. 

"I-I want my mum back..." He mumbles it as quietly as he can, hoping his dad won't hear and tell him off for being so stupid, so weak. 

The arms tighten round him and a gentle hand strokes his hair. 

"Yes," comes the almost inaudible response. 

Scorpius takes several shuddering breaths and tries to draw himself together. "I'm sorry for-for not- I should've-"

"Don't," Draco murmurs. "You don't need to. This... This will always be difficult."

Draco's arms release slightly, and Scorpius finds himself able to sit up on his own. He starts searching for a tissue. His face is sodden and messy. He feels useless and embarrassed. How has he got into this state? How has he let himself? He should be better than this. He picks up his wand, which he'd let fall onto the carpet, and summons a tissue from the box on his father's desk. Immediately he begins mopping himself up. 

"You've always risen to challenges," Draco says. "I believe you will do the same here, although you don't need to do this alone, Scorpius. I'm here to help you. Anything you need-"

"I don't need anything," Scorpius says, wiping the tears from his eyes. 

"You can do this," Draco continues, looking right at him. His expression is fierce, but not angry. It's full of something Scorpius doesn't recognise. He's never seen his father look at him that way before. "Astoria would have wanted us to do this, to stay safe. She is a weapon that can be used against us, and we must be able to defend ourselves."

Scorpius meets his eyes, chin held high. "I'm fine. They can't defeat me. I won't let them. I'll show you, sir." He gets to his feet and holds his wand at the ready. "I want to try again." 

Draco bows his head. "Scorpius, you don't-"

"I want to try again," Scorpius repeats firmly. "I'm the Scorpion King. I don't fail. Let me prove it to you."

"You have nothing to-"

"Father," Scorpius says, looking down at him. "I am not going to fail you again." 

Draco looks up at him from the floor. His eyes are red, and his cheeks shine in the pale lamplight. Scorpius looks away out of the window. The idea of his father crying...

"We're Malfoys," Scorpius says to the grey world outside. "We don't do this." 

Draco sighs. He picks himself up off the floor and stalks back beside his desk. "You're quite right. We  _don't_  do this. Are you ready?" He runs a hand across his face, then levels his wand at Scorpius.

Scorpius looks him dead in the eye. His mum would have wanted him to do this, and so he will. "I'm ready, sir." 

" _Legilimens_." 

A gale howls through Scorpius's mind but he holds himself firm. All thoughts of his mother are locked tightly away, while he instead thinks of the History of Magic homework he'd asked that snivelling idiot Craig Bowker to do. 

The lid of the toy-box doesn't budge an inch. 

 ---

The Scorpion King never wavers. For the whole next year he doesn't fail again once. Not in his lessons with his father, nor at school. The headmistress loves him. All the girls love him. And the people who support his Quidditch team. The Scorpion King is the hero of the school. The day he suggests putting the dungeons to good use for Mudbloods is a day that will never be forgotten, and he's proud of the stir he created, even if the screams sometimes echo through his dreams at night.

He puts his revulsion at the screams away into his toy-box, as far away from the memories of his mum as he can. She wouldn't have liked to know he- But she isn't here. And this is what he needs to do to be the best.

It's tiring though, being infallible. As the year goes on he feels more and more exhausted. He hasn't been sleeping well. He feels cold all the time. The Dementors in the grounds make him feel shaky and weak whenever he passes them. After he walked by them on his way to the Quidditch Pitch the other week he sat in a shivering huddle in the changing rooms for almost an hour, listening to his mum's voice reverberating inside his head, feeling like he'd never be happy again. 

There are times when he can no longer hold his wand steady, like his arm is too tired. There are also times when his magic just won't work, when he feels weak and frustrated. It would be more of a problem if he wasn't doing such a convincing job of showing everyone how much he hates school. But everyone knows the Scorpion King is too good for lessons. Too powerful. Too skilled in the dark arts. His classmates are impressed by it. 

Sometimes he feels as though he's crumbling. When he goes into the dungeons he feels a chill in his heart. His hand shakes when he casts the Cruciatus Curse. Often he makes someone else do it because he can't face that horrible rush of power, the writhing and begging, the way their eyes cloud with pain even as they stare defiantly up at him. Surely he should be able to set his heart aside and enjoy it? They're Mudbloods, worthless scum, not fit to lick the dirt from his shoes. He shouldn't  _care_. His father wouldn't care. He needs to be stronger.

 ---

The summer before fourth year he is invited to the Ministry. It's a surprise because he didn't think he was doing well enough, but his father informs him the Augurey has requested him specifically. Scorpius has never felt more proud or excited or terrified.

He's been to the Ministry once or twice before, with his father, but never in his own right. He's never seen much beyond the walls of his father's office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That room is grand enough, but the rest of the Ministry is... Rather incredible.

Scorpius keeps his head high, tucks his hands away neatly behind his back, and stands up very straight as he marches past the Magic Is Might statue in the entryway. Above his head banners depicting the Dark Mark and the Augurey hang in neat, militaristic rows. They stain the ceiling black, and green, and blood red. 

He drags his attention away from them. It would be wrong to gawp at the decoration. He's better than that. He belongs here, and he's going to act like it. Still, he feels rather small as he strides down the long corridors, all sorts of very tall, busy, official looking people in black robes brushing past him. 

The Augurey's office is right on the top floor. It has a shiny, black door, with the symbol printed on it in gold. Scorpius knocks, and waits, and waits, and waits. He's considering knocking again when the door finally creaks open of its own accord and he steps inside. 

The room isn't as big as he expected it to be. There's a wide enchanted window showing bright blue sky behind a huge, hulking back desk. Delphi is sitting behind it, writing a letter. She doesn't even glance up at Scorpius as he approaches her. 

"Augurey," he says hesitantly, sounding very young and very nervous, although he's trying to be confident. "You asked to see me."

She takes several seconds finishing her letter before finally looking up at him. Her dark eyes bore into him. 

"I've heard a lot about you, Scorpius."

"Only good things, I hope," he replies, with a nervous little laugh, making sure he's standing as straight backed as he can. 

She grins. There's something about it that sends shivers running through him. "Professor Umbridge thinks highly of you. I've heard plenty of people talking about you. You're causing a stir at Hogwarts. I wanted to see whether you live up to all the rumours." 

He steps forward eagerly. "If you want to challenge me, test me, anything. I'm ready. I'll do anything you want me to." 

The Augurey rises to her feet, robes falling around her like great, black wings. "Is that so?" She draws her wand and holds it loosely in her hand. Scorpius eyes it warily. "What sort of test do you think I should give you?" 

He lifts his chin. "Let me show you what I can do. I can..." He thinks wildly. "I can torture someone for you. Kill someone. A Mudblood. A Muggle. I hate them all. I can-"

Delphi steps from behind the desk and Scorpius flinches away, tripping on the hem of his robe. She laughs at him, and shame heats his face. 

"I don't want you to kill anyone," she says. "I want to know how loyal you are. How strong. Do you waver, Scorpion King, when things get painful?" 

"I promise I-"

"Silence!" Delphi barks, and Scorpius bows his head. "You don't need to speak, in fact I'd rather you held your tongue." She steps very close to him and raises her wand, putting it beneath his chin and pressing it in so he's forced to look up at her. "Are you familiar with the Cruciatus Curse?"

Scorpius nods desperately. Of course he is. What a stupid question. He uses it every single day. 

"Good," Delphi says. "Then you know how it feels?" 

"It... Hurts," he replies. Her wand is pressing against his throat and it makes it uncomfortable to talk. 

"Yes," she says, getting so close to him that he can barely focus on her face. "It does." The next second she's gone, the wand withdraws from Scorpius's throat, but before he can gasp in a breath he hears her voice, clear and cold. "Crucio." 

The pain is instantaneous. Any remaining breath is chased out of his body and he collapses to his knees. He can hear himself screaming. It feels as though a hundred knives are slicing through him, and he clutches at himself, like he's trying desperately to pluck them out.

He doesn't know when it's going to end, and as it goes on and on he loses control of his body, collapses onto the floor, and begins to convulse. 

When it finally ends it's pure relief. He gasps for breath and lies flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, which is painted with shining silver constellations. He can see his own stars up there through the haze of tears.

Delphi crouches down next to him. Her fingers close round his chin and pull his head sharply up, so he's forced to meet her eyes. He lets out a sob because she's holding his jaw hard enough to bruise, and his neck aches where she'd wrenched it. He wants to shove her away but he still hasn't entirely regained control of his limbs. His arms still ache.

"You're just a child, Scorpion King." She spits his title in his face, spattering wet across his skin, and he blinks, but he can't flinch. "Weak. Pathetic. You think you're so far above everyone else, but you'll never be fit to stand in the presence of the Dark Lord."

"I will!" Scorpius blurts out. "I will. I can do it. I want to. I'm trying." 

Delphi practically throws him away from her and gets to her feet. Scorpius sprawls across the ground, but as soon as he lands he scrambles up onto his knees. 

"No, you won't." She looks down at him, intent like a hawk picking out its prey. "I know you, and I know your family,  _Malfoy_." His name takes on a mocking sneer in her mouth. "Your grandparents are snakes, your father pleases only himself, and your mother... Well, she got what was coming to her, didn't she? A Muggle sympathiser who was killed by her own traitorous blood." 

Scorpius clenches his fists behind his back. His hands are shaking uncontrollably and angry tears sting his eyes. He wants to hex Delphi, more than he's ever wanted to hex anyone in his life. He wants to hit her with the Cruciatus Curse. He wants to hurt her like no one has ever hurt her before. 

He doesn't. Instead he takes a deep, shaking breath and blinks until his eyes are clearer.

"You can  _trust_  me," he says. "Please."

"I can, can I?" She turns away from him, like he's nothing.

He pushes himself to his feet and takes a step forward. "You can."

For a moment she seems to gaze out at the enchanted sky in front of her. From behind, her cloak looks almost like feathers, like she's a great black bird. He can imagine her just taking flight into that sky, how glorious she'd look with the wings of her robes spread, soaring. 

Finally she turns and looks him right in the eye. "You say I can trust you, child, but I don't believe you." She walks to him and takes hold of his chin again, this time far more gently, fingers caressing. Scorpius hates every point where her fingertips are touching his skin. 

"I have ways," she whispers, leaning in very close. "I can know you better than you know yourself. Is that what you want me to do?"

"Do... What you want," Scorpius says, voice trembling. 

Delphi smiles. And then a wind like a tornado carves through Scorpius's mind, slamming against the walls of his room, shredding them to dust. His legs turn to jelly, his knees give out, but Delphi tightens her grip on his chin and holds him steady. 

She's tearing him apart, going through everything she can find, perusing his thoughts and casting them aside into the howling gale. It's all he can do to hold his toy-box closed. He needs to defend it. Needs to keep it safe. But it's just flimsy painted wood. It can't stand up to this. This stripping, biting, lashing wind that just wants to destroy. 

 _I saw you when I was eight_ , Scorpius thinks desperately. _I saw you, and you said I had to be the best to serve the Dark Lord, so that's what I've done._

He throws them all at her, the faces of every single Mudblood he's personally tortured. He shows her the first time he cast the Cruciatus Curse, even though his hand was shaking uncontrollably, and the rush of power he'd felt as that sixth year girl had writhed on the floor in agony in front of him. He gives her images of all the books he's read, trying to learn dark hexes and curses that he can use to fight the remainder of the resistance. He reveals the conversations he's had with his father, asking about Ministry business, and about what the Augurey and the Dark Lord want from a servant. They've only ever spoken with the utmost respect for the most powerful wizard and witch ever to live. 

The wind is still tearing at his toy-box, but not incessantly anymore. It's as if the storm has decided to pass over it. The paint is still gouged and chipped, the wood is still half broken and splintered, and the hinges are almost broken, but it's safe. And as the wind withdraws, leaving Scorpius with the most splitting headache he's ever felt, he knows he's done what would make his father proud.

Delphi's fingers release him and he collapses on the floor, pressing his hands against his forehead. 

"You did it all because of our conversation?" She asks, and Scorpius thinks she might sound pleased. 

He pulls his hands from his head and nods. "I remembered what you said." He gets to his knees and looks up at her. "It's all I want, all I've ever wanted, to serve you. To serve the Dark Lord."

Delphi looks at him for a long moment, taking him in, then she puts her wand away. "Get up."

Scorpius scrambles to his feet. He brushes his robes down and puts his hands behind his back. He feels dizzy, and a little bit sick. He sways but doesn't fall. 

"What you're doing at Hogwarts," Delphi says, "keep doing it. I want the school free of scum. Maybe in the future you'll have your uses." 

Scorpius nods enthusiastically, a bad idea because it makes the world spin. "Yes, Augurey. Of course I will." 

"Good. Now get out of my sight."

Scorpius stumbles from the room. Once the office door has closed behind him he clutches at the nearest wall for support and sinks onto the ground. His mind feels bruised and battered, he's exhausted, everything still hurts a bit, but he  _succeeded_. She wants him to carry on. And isn't that everything he's always wanted? 

 ---

Fourth year is difficult. Scorpius feels tired to the bone all the time. He has an almost constant headache, made all the worse by his father's insistence that they meet for lessons every other weekend. Ever since his father found out what had been said and done during Scorpius's meeting (his  _private_ meeting) with Delphi he's seemed even more on edge than usual and Scorpius hates it. He can handle himself. Of course he can.

But there are days when his magic comes in fits and starts, days when it doesn't come at all, days when he feels like it's overwhelming him and he can hardly contain it. There are days when he can't make himself walk anywhere near the dungeons, when he lurks in the tallest towers, or in the Owlery, to get as far as he can from the screaming. There are days when the headmistress requests to see him and he hides away, claims he has Quidditch practice instead. At least flying still feels like freedom. 

He's been doing more and more flying recently. It makes him feel connected to himself. It makes him feel like maybe he knows who he is. It makes him feel sane, at least a little bit. His head doesn't hurt nearly so much when the breeze is rushing through his hair, and the adrenaline makes him feel awake and alive. 

The only problem with flying is that the more of it he does, the more his mind becomes free to wander. And then he ends up thinking about his toy-box. He used to have flying locked away inside it, once, and he can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, some of the other things in there might make him feel happier too? 

It isn't that he dislikes his life. He has status, and glory, and respect, and he's worshipped. He's on the path towards all his dreams coming true. But if only he could feel warmer and less tired sometimes. That would be nice. 

It's after a particularly dismal Potions lesson that he snaps. Snape has been standing over him the whole time, antagonising him. 

"I know you think you're too good for this class, Malfoy, but if you could at least try that would be greatly appreciated." 

"Can you read, Malfoy? Or has your ego become so bloated you can no longer see past it?"

"I believe it says  _sixteen_ grams of beetle eyes, but that looks like only six. Did your mother not teach you to count?" 

Scorpius bows his head at that last comment. "Yes she did," he mutters to himself, and starts weighing the eyes out again. 

He hasn't thought about them for years, those counting lessons with his mum. When they used to play hide and seek with numbers. When hiding things in his mind was a game. Everything had felt so easy. He'd felt so light. So happy. 

For the first time in a year he slips and the image of her eyes, chestnut brown, so warm and kind, flashes into his mind. He gives a quiet, startled sob and nearly spills beetle eyes all over the desk. 

It takes all his concentration to get through the rest of the lesson, but somehow he manages it. He feels like he's about to explode, like everything is trying to burst out of him, but he holds it in. 

Finally (finally,  _finally_ ) Snape dismisses them. Scorpius shoves his things away and runs. He runs from the classroom, and he tries to flee the torment of all the thoughts that are rushing in on him like waves now -- his mum's eyes, the hugs she used to give, the grey day of her funeral, white lilies on her coffin, the way his father had hugged him the day after even though he'd failed, the sweets his mum used to give him, he used to love sweets so much. He can't escape them, the thoughts and the memories, and he realises that maybe instead of running away from them he's running towards them. Which isn't allowed, there's a reason he's had them locked away for so long, but-

He crashes into someone halfway down the corridor and looks up to realise it's Craig Bowker. 

"Scorpion King!" He says, backing away. "I-I'm sorry. I should have been looking where I-"

"I have work for you," Scorpius says, ignoring him. His mind is racing, swirling, bursting and he needs everyone to go away. This is the easiest way to get rid of Craig. "Here." He pulls his Potions notes from his bag and thrusts them into Craig's chest. "I need it done with the proofs and without. I'll decide which I prefer when they're done." 

"Okay!" Craig says, hugging the papers. 

"I need all the questions done. And that essay." Scorpius can't look at him. The hinges of his toy-box are straining and things are spilling out. He remembers how his mum used to hold his hand. He remembers how he used to love reading. He used to read books about Harry Potter. He used to-

"Of course. Is there anything else?" Craig asks. He's still waiting to be dismissed. 

Scorpius shakes his head. "Get to work. It's for Thursday." 

"Absolutely." Craig gives a small bow and runs away in the direction of the library. Scorpius watches him go, then starts hurrying to his dorm. 

It's deserted when he arrives. He points his wand at the door, sealing it shut, then he scrambles onto his bed, pulls the hangings tight shut, and collapses face down on the pillows. 

He can't hold it shut anymore. The battered, faded toy-box springs open and his mind is full of everything he used to be, everything he's worked so hard to contain. 

He used to wish he had a best friend like Harry Potter's best friends. He used to be so excited about going to Hogwarts so he could learn. He used to dream of having read every single book in his parents' library. He used to love Pepper Imps more than anything else. He used to mess with the sleeves of his jumpers, stretching them out and holding them over his hands for warmth and safety. 

He can't breathe as it all floods in on him, consuming him like an avalanche. It's so much, unrelenting, overwhelming, and he thinks it should feel unpleasant... But it doesn't. 

It feels right. It feels familiar. It feels strangely warm and comforting. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and lets it all fall into place. This peace. Who he could be. Who he should be? All these bits of him he set aside over the years because he had something to achieve. They sink into him and it feels like being whole again. 

Lying there in the total darkness, curled up in the bed that's held only nightmares for him for such a long time, he feels like Scorpius Malfoy. 

It's wrong, of course. He's not Scorpius. He's the Scorpion King. He's a servant of the Dark Lord, or he will be one day. He will be when he's strong enough. 

But the pressure in his chest releases and he breathes again. He pulls one of his pillows into his arms and wraps himself around it. Everything feels so warm, and comfortable, and easy, and he's so tired. He's been so tired for so long. 

Things are still floating from the toy-box and fitting themselves into his mind like a puzzle. He feels more and more complete. More and more himself.

He exhales. His shoulders relax. His fingers curl into the pillow, holding it tight. He drifts. He sleeps. 

And as he sleeps, the world shifts around him. 

The Scorpion King fades away. And Scorpius Malfoy claws his way out of the water onto the banks of the Black Lake... 


End file.
